Feb 222018
 

Imagine:
Blue lines and mottled yellow planes,
A horned block of red capped in brown,
Framing the pale face and rouged cheeks
Of a boy. He stands still and blank,
Eyes unfocused, hand perched on hip, posed
Yet not posturing, neither there nor still
By choice. He waits for sitting’s end,
Running already, free and laughing
With friends across plains of yellow grass.


Image: Paul Cézanne (French, 1839 – 1906 ), Boy in a Red Waistcoat, 1888-1890, oil on canvas, Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Paul Mellon, in Honor of the 50th Anniversary of the National Gallery of Art

 February 22, 2018  Moments Tagged with:
Feb 192018
 

It’s been quiet around here the past six months but I intend to start rambling about books and movies again.

Ideally, I’d chip away at the pile of notes I kept but never wrote about from the second half of last year’s lists. I’ve got high hopes, but we’ll see how it goes.

Worst case scenario: I pick up with the new stuff, go with it, and just let the past be past.

We’ll see.

 

 February 19, 2018  Moments
Jan 012018
 

It’s been a long time since I’ve watched something that left me as excited about art and cinema, storytelling and life as I Love Dick.

My highlights?

In the third episode, “Scenes from a Marriage,” the two unfettered performances: the first, part of a gallery workshop, the second, an adoration.

Episode four, “The Conceptual F**K”: a woman lays down nude to burn in the sun. This is art, it is broadcast, it trends. Then it goes analogue and is challenged, redescribed, dismantled. A shirt it turns out unmakes a man.

The fifth episode, “A Short History of Weird Girls,” is a startling, discreet gem of pop experimental cinema.

The final moments of the last episode are an apotheosis, both for the series and for the protagonists.

Later, after I’d taken the time to read a bit of the popular press around the show’s release, I wondered if people had missed its depth. Calling it “comedy” seemed wrong to me, but that’s what everyone did. Soon enough I realized that I was the one who was wrong. Dick is full of fools and laughter, and I eventually remembered that laughter—raucous, vulgar, norm-destroying laughter—was characteristic of Bakhtin’s appropriative, novelistic genres.

So a thought: if movies are short stories (or maybe comics), then maybe streamed episodic narratives are novels, empowered with all the freedom and breadth and consuming variety the analogy implies.

I’m working in broad strokes, loud colors, but this is what Dick taught me.